Tekening

My kingdom still stands firm

My walls still look stern

My towers still talk to the sky

No square with a well run dry

The harbor still a crowd

The market still as loud

The fields still get ploughed

The rythm of the work never laid still.

But in the castle, lies the prince

Silent on the floor

Staring at a painting

Which ment so much before

His tears following the trail

of the cut sliced in the canvas

Frowning about this betrail

Crying over what it once was